


Utúlie'n Aurë

by Ilya_Boltagon



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Cute Elflings, EXTREME GUILT, Families of Choice, Family Bonding, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Half-Elves, Oath of Fëanor, Post Third Kinslaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon
Summary: A year after the Third Kinslaying at Sirion, Maglor reflects on his current situation and his guilt, and makes a decision. Cameos from little Elrond and Elros.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur, Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 20
Kudos: 50





	Utúlie'n Aurë

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inwiste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inwiste/gifts).



Maglor made his way slowly up the stairs, his arms full as he carried two very sleepy small elves (or Peredhil, he supposed) up to their room. The wood creaked beneath his boots, and he froze, not wanting the boys to awaken fully and begin chattering away- he personally loved hearing their bright young voices but it would take hours to get them back to sleep if that happened, and he did not wish to give Maedhros any further reasons to dislike their young charges.

Elros sighed in his sleep, and Elrond's eyelids fluttered- how odd it was, that they naturally slept with their eyes closed, every night!- but neither boy woke, to Maglor's relief. Moving even more quietly, he resumed his trek up the stairs, stifling a sigh as he took in, once again, the rough wooden house that was one of many such built by himself, Maedhros and what remained of their people. They lacked the numbers to hold a stronger fortress or city these days, so had no choice but to build a small, defensible camp. At least it provided roofs above their heads, if little else.

Maglor looked sadly down at the two dark heads resting against his shoulders. What manner of life was _this_ for them? They had been born princes, heirs to both Gondolin and Doriath, the kingship of the Noldor and the Sindar, and now... fosterlings of an elf who was a lord in name only, who could offer them nothing but an illusion of safety, and the legacy of a curse and a doom. A kinslayer.

Maglor let one tear fall from his eye as he slipped into the twins' room. _Perhaps Maedhros is right, and I should view them as hostages, as he constantly reminds me that they are._ Except, his brother's fixation on that idea, on the notion that Elrond and Elros might still be traded for the Silmaril that Elwing had- it was beginning to border on obsession. Especially since Elwing had, by Maedhros' own testimony, cast herself and the cursed jewel into the Sea, almost a year ago now. Wild rumors of her somehow becoming a bird and flying westward aside, she was most likely dead, and there was little hope of the Silmaril's recovery now. It was in Ulmo's hands, and far from the reach of any.

Part of Maglor felt relieved at that- the demands of the Oath that they had sworn so hastily, all those years ago, had lessened: the only two Silmarils that remained were in the Enemy's grasp, and they had no hope of reaching them.

Maglor would never tell Maedhros this, but he had been enjoying the freedom of living without the Oath choking his every thought and deed. Despite the constant threat of the Enemy, which grew day by day, still... living for something besides reclaiming the Silmarils... it took a weight from his shoulders.

Easing open the roughly-hewn door of the twins' room with his foot, he slipped inside, setting the boys down as gently as he could on their bed- only one, for they preferred to sleep at one another's sides, and it saved on blankets and furs.

Elros' eyes opened, hazy with sleep, and Maglor smiled, as ever, at the trust and innocence in those silver-blue orbs, even as his heart constricted: would little Elros feel such trust, would either of them look at him that way, once they knew the truth of how they came to be in his care? So far, it appeared that they remembered very little of Sirion- they never spoke of Ëarendil, and only once or twice in the past few months had either of them mentioned Elwing and their old home beside the sea.

It made sense, he supposed; they were so young, only seven years old now, just six when Sirion had fallen.

 _When you and Maedhros sacked it._ His conscience spoke up, the words scalding him like hot acid, making him hold back a flinch. He pushed the thought aside, as he had with so many unpleasant, painful truths in order to keep functioning, and focused on Elros, who was now smiling at him sleepily. “You should be sleeping, little one.”

“Was.” Elros whispered, his eyes gleaming. “But I'm 'wake now.”

Maglor attempted to look stern, but as ever, Elros' cheeky expression ruined his efforts, and he gave in to a smile. The boys' speech worried him sometimes- they spoke like much younger elflings, even as they grew to a greater height than most seven-year-olds. Maedhros, when Maglor had raised his concerns with him, had merely brushed it off with 'It is likely due to their mortal blood.' And that was it, as far as he was concerned- the twins meant little to him, beyond being bargaining chips. Maglor, however, could not help but worry- how fast did Edain children grow? Were the twins normal, in that regard, or did their elven (and Maiar) heritage make them different from Mortal children as well?

How long would their lifespan be?

Of course, he had no way of finding this out- he knew nothing of the Edain, really, and certainly nothing of their children and how fast they would grow and age. Any that might know what to expect from children of the Peredhil line- survivors of Doriath, of Gondolin, of Sirion- they, rightly, loathed Maglor, and would give him no help even had he a way of asking them.

No, for better or for worse, the twins were his responsibility: sending them off was not safe. Any travel in these lands was fraught with danger, crawling with Orcs, Easterlings and other fell creatures, and if Elrond and Elros were sent to their surviving kin, the chances were they would not make it there, to Balar, alive. All that Maglor could do was to continue providing them with a safe environment, as close to a home as he could manage, and not fret or draw conclusions about their growth or development. He just had to accept them as they were- unique Eruhini, that he was blessed to be able to have in his life.

For they loved him, that could not be doubted. They always greeted him with smiles and embraces, were happiest when he was with them, and wanted him there to show him every single thing that pleased them, or that they had accomplished- even when said 'accomplishment' was little more than a huge mess that Maglor had to clean up once they were asleep, it still warmed his heart that they included him in every facet of their young lives.

“Thank you for takin' us to waterfall today, Ada.” Elros lisped, one tiny hand rising to stroke Maglor's face. “'Rond and I had fun.”

Maglor smoothed his silky hair back from his brow. “I'm glad to hear that, I-” Elros' words registered and Maglor started, staring down at him, wide-eyed. “Elros, what- what did you call me?”

“Ada.” The solemn reply came from Elrond, who had apparently been woken by Maglor's abrupt movement, although from the clear look in his eyes, he might have been lying there awake, with his eyes closed, for several minutes- it was an odd quirk of his, to listen to what was happening around him before he spoke.

Maglor's heart constricted, tears pricking his eyes as a warm glow of love warred with a sickening feeling of guilt within him. _Would either of you say such things if you knew what I'd done, the blood I've spilled? The monster that I truly am?_ “Boys- I-” _I am not your Ada._ He could tell them. He should tell them. But, looking at their young faces, relaxed with sleep, utterly innocent of evil, horror or tragedy, knowing what it would do to them to destroy that innocence... He could not force the words out.

“What?” Elros' head was tilted curiously, and Elrond's gaze was locked on him intensely. Maglor stifled a sigh. He would not escape this conversation without providing an answer now.

“I... I love that you want to call me Ada. And I hope you know I love you both as I would my own children, but...” He took a deep breath. “Do you not remember your...” What? Other parents? Real parents? “Your birth parents?”

Elros blinked a lot, shaking his head. “No. You're not our first Ada?”

Elrond's little face was puckered in a frown. “I 'member Nana. She was always sad. Always looking out at the Sea. She cries a lot.”

Maglor decided to ignore the slip between past and present tense. He nodded, pulling Elrond onto his lap, Elros scrambling to join him seconds later, not wanting to miss out on a hug, no doubt. Both boys nestled against him, and again tears pricked Maglor's eyes. “That's right. Your Naneth... she was very sad. And your Adar was... away.” Indeed, Ëarendil had been absent from Sirion, away at sea, foolishly trying to find the closed path to Valinor, for two whole years before he and Maedhros had finally led their forces against the haven, in a last, desperate bid for the Silmaril. “She missed him a lot, and in the end...” He could not tell them the truth, that he himself had been behind their effectively being orphaned. “She decided to go and see if she could find him.”

“She took the pwetty necklace with her.” Elrond's tone was utterly matter of fact, and Maglor could not tell if this was something he had overheard from someone, or if somehow, he remembered the Nauglamir, the necklace that contained the Silmaril. But even if that were so, how could he know that Elwing had leaped to her probable death with it? The twins had been at the opposite end of Sirion when Maglor had found them, cowering inside a cave behind a waterfall, a slain elleth- their nursemaid?- lying prone before the waterfall, having succumbed to an arrow to her lungs.

Maglor eyed Elrond carefully. “How do you know that, tithen el?”

“I dreamded it.”

The babylike word made Maglor's lips twitch, in spite of the grim tone of this conversation. Elrond, apparently, had not finished.

“Nana took the pwetty necklace and went away. 'Ros and I were lost in the cave, and you came and found us, Ada.”

“I 'member that!” Elros piped up. “It was cold behind waterfall, and we was hiding, then Ada came and founded us.” He looked up quizzically. “How'd you know we was there, Ada?”

There was no way he could tell them that he had assumed the tracks of the elleth (whom they seemed to have forgotten completely) belonged to Elwing, fleeing with her children as he would have expected. He'd seen the elleth's body, before the curtain of the waterfall, and followed the smaller tracks that led into the cave behind it, finding the boys inside. He'd taken the twins upon finding them alone, cold and terrified and uncomprehending. They had been trembling so badly that it had been a struggle to keep them upon his horse before him, even as tiny as they were.

Only when he had rejoined Maedhros, and learned of Elwing's fate, and the loss of their own two youngest brothers, Amrod and Amras, had he become certain that these were Elwing's sons- Maedhros had examined them, more roughly than was needed, and commented that their ears, while pointed, were more round than those of an elf. He had made 'Peredhil' sound like a curse, and stormed off. It had been left to Maglor to decide what to do with the traumatized boys, and he had kept them from that day forward.

“I was looking for anyone who might have been lost that day.” Maglor finally replied, hoping that was enough to satiate their curiosity- he would not go into the darker details.

“An' you finded us!” Elros crowed, snuggling in closer. “I'm glad you did.”

The turmoil of love-grief-guilt-self-hatred tore at Maglor once again, but he managed a smile for Elros. “I am glad too.”

“Nana and our other Ada gone, but we have you now, Ada.” Elrond's tone was decisive, and Elros nodded fervently along with him.

“ _This_ Ada isn't going to leave us, is he, 'Rond?”

“No, never!”

Both twins latched onto Maglor's arms like limpets, as if they intended to ensure this by never releasing him.

He should correct them: tell them that he was truly their distant cousin, that he was partly to blame for their mother's absence, that they should not call him Ada, for he was no such thing. But... he had explained to them, as best he could, and still they persisted, as if naming him their father was their choice. Claiming their own family, now that their true one was lost to them. How could he pain them by denying them some of the only security they felt they had? He closed his eyes for a long moment, relishing the warm weight of the children in his arms, safe and secure, as Amrod and Amras- also twins- had once been. He could not cause them any grief. If they truly wished for him to be their Ada, then so he would be, for as long as they needed him. The damned Oath- and Maedhros- would have to wait until these two were grown and no longer needed a parent.

“Ada?”

He opened one eye, unsure which twin had spoken. “Yes?”

“Stay with us tonight?”

“Sing us to sleep?”

Unable to keep from smiling at the hopeful looks on their faces, he nodded, easing back on the bed until his head was upon the pillow, one child on either side of him. Both rolled closer until they could curl their little fingers into Maglor's hair, and he placed one arm around each.

“What shall I sing, my little stars?”

“Star song. For the Lady.” Elrond yawned as he snuggled down. Elros' eyes were already closing once again.

Maglor pressed a kiss to each brow before obliging, adopting a low tone to soothe their sleep as he began the familiar hymn, created by the Sindar, now common among all the Eldar (who did not believe themselves utterly damned) praising Varda Elbereth.

“ _A Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_silivren penna míriel_

_o menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-díriel_

_o galadhremmin ennorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathon_

_nef aear, sí nef aearon!"_

Their breathing evened out within minutes, but nonetheless, Maglor completed the song, before lying back, oddly at peace. As if, perhaps, despite all the fear and uncertainty, all the darkness of the current days and those to come... There was still hope, after all. Usually, any remembrance of the Valar left a bitter taste in his mouth, but tonight, with the children (his children) at his side... it felt different.

As if, perhaps there was indeed hope for a light beyond the darkness. Hope for a better future. Somehow, someday... things would get better. For all of them.

Sleep claimed him, and as he wandered onto the Path of Dreams, his foster-sons in his arms, he recalled his late cousin Fingon's words, at the onset of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: ' _Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!'_

It had not proven true in that fateful battle- day had not come then, despite Fingon's optimistic words. The Enemy had prevailed once more, but perhaps, someday, the new day would truly come, and the darkness- of the Enemy, of the accursed Oath- would be ended at last. Until then, Maglor decided, all he could do- all that any of them could do- was search for brief lights in the darkness. He gazed down at the sleeping boys, curled up against him so trustingly. They would be his guiding lights, his little Stars, to see him through the blackness that his life had become, until their time together ended, one way or another.


End file.
